Red as snow
by Mizu-Tenshi
Summary: Fresh snow, a kind smile, the wings of a dove. Anything pure he wanted to taint. Anything beautiful he wanted to break. And to him, Shito was the most beautiful of them all. TohoXShito. Darkfic.


Well, this is my first Zombie Loan fic and, also, the first Toho/Shito…I think. Rated for dark themes, non-con and shounen-ai, of course.

On another note, I spent half an hour trying to find what those red flowers during Shito's flashback scenes were. It turns out they're red spider lilies, which bloom in Japan during autumn usually during Ohigan, a Buddhist festival where people visit their ancestor's graves. Oh, and the bulbs can be used as poison, so it's quite a fitting flower for Shito. Haha, I did so much research into it that I just thought I'd share! I also used Chinese honourifics instead of Japanese ones since the Xufu is a Chinese mafia.

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**Red as snow**

XX

Red blood on white snow, a hopeful smile slowly crumbling into despair, the broken wings of a bird that could not longer fly - Anything pure was asking for trouble. It was just begging to be tainted. It screamed out to be corrupted.

It was an addiction of sorts. He could never resist. Things that were simply beautiful were unsatisfying, too dull and monotonous without a dash of despair or a stroke of sorrow to give it colour. Every time he saw something beautiful, he could not resist the urge to taint it, to wrap his fingers around its ivory purity and squeeze out every last drop of innocence. It was always there, the desire to make it hollow and empty, a void of nothingness, like an endless, unfeeling darkness.

His position within the XuFu allowed him certain freedoms to follow such desires and within the XuFu; weaving its web throughout the course of history, like an ominous shadow, lay the treasure he desired the most. His skills as an Exorcist had allowed him to climb quickly, higher and higher, until he laid his eyes on _him._

An invaluable treasure. A prized piece of art handed down throughout the XuFu for generations, carefully created by the hands of the greatest masters of the black arts, moulded to perfection. He had always been interested in it. Even the mere thought of it could sweep aside all his other interests as if they were nothing more than chaff in the wind. It could capture his attention like nothing else could, this creature that had been born a corpse. This perfect monster.

His footsteps echoed through the polished halls. Lacquered walls and ink paintings on reed paper surrounded him. A man in traditional dress stood to attention before a pair of grand double doors; polished dark mahogany, red as dried blood, carved with the hideous faces of ancient Gods.

"Shito-xiansheng is currently sleeping," the attendant at the door informed him, straight-faced and sombre.

"I have permission," he waved the attendant away. The man bowed and stepped aside to allow his entrance to the chamber. He smiled as he approached, feeling something rising up in his chest. Was it anticipation? Excitement? A hand pushed open the doors, and he slipped inside, gently closing them behind him.

The smell of incense was strong, white tendrils or smoke curled into the air, its scent clinging to the velvet pillows that had been strewn across the room. Jade hangings and a lacquered board gave the room a mystic air. White cranes floated across paper scrolls, between wisps of painted smoke and the imprints of black butterflies.

Yet the lustre of the rich trappings and silky sheets did not interest him in the slightest. He was after another piece of art.

He remembered the first time he had laid his eyes on him; he had been entranced. After seven years in the womb, the boy had been born beautiful, his hair as dark as the night, flawless skin that would look perfect smeared with blood. Back then, dark red eyes had gazed up at him with fear and now, in this luxurious bedchamber, those same eyes stared at him with suspicion.

Toho smiled.

"The attendant told me you were sleeping. How disappointing! Now I cannot wake you myself, Shito-shaoye," he spoke in a languid manner, slowly moving towards him.

Shito reclined across the length of a couch, his cheongsam a little too long and lavish for his liking, his head resting against a hand with a look of utter boredom on his beautiful face.

"What do you want, Toho?" he frowned at him, hardly moving from his position.

Toho had to repress a small chuckle. So the zombie thought that he could make demands?

He changed his course of direction and swerved around the couch to a glass cabinet hosting a china vase.

"As much as I enjoy it, I didn't come here to play, unfortunately," he smiled lazily, plucking a red spider lily from the bouquet. His eyes roved around the corners of Shito's chamber, those red, claw-like flowers were everywhere, they had been his mother's favourite after all.

Pressing the bloom to his lips, he sauntered back to his place, dropping into a crouch before the boy. "You've been most careless. The elders are quite displeased," he whispered, taking the flower from his lips to bush against the boy's, imagining that those crimson petals were blossoms of blood against his white skin.

Shito grimaced and moved his head away. "I don't care. It's not my fault that an accident happened, or that I got my hand switched with someone else. Go complain to the Zombie loan office if it displeases you so much," he said tersely, annoyed by the very presence of the exorcist.

It was bothersome, that was for sure, having to switch hands and never be too far from that boy who had also been caught in the accident. Toho had no idea what would happen now but no doubt to would be…_interesting_.

"Oh, it doesn't displease _me_," he fingered the petals before letting it fall to the carpeted floor. With a foot, he crushed the flower beneath him, leaving a pitiful red smear. "It will be most amusing to see how you fare from now on, having to pretend that you are not monster."

Shito glowered at him with such hate that any normal person would have recoiled in fear. Toho sighed; what a wonderful expression!

He leaned forward, tilting Shito's chin towards him to get a better view of that delightful look. "The elders would have preferred it if this inconvenience had been avoided. Now your movements are limited and you will be constantly linked to that person. What _shall_ we do?" he smiled teasingly; a spider trapping a butterfly. "Ah!" he stepped back under the brilliance of his ingenious idea. "How about we kill him? That would solve the problem, wouldn't it?"

The boy's eyes flashed with something dangerous. Though his face remained largely emotionless, the subtle changes that rippled across the surface reflected only a hint of what lay beneath that impassive exterior.

It was a frustrating look. Toho wanted to see the boy angry, he wanted to see him cry, he wanted to see hear him scream in fear as all his hopes and dreams slowly crumbled before his eyes. Oh, what delicious irony it was to take pleasure in the misery of a monster such as Shito, to watch him struggle as though he were alive!

Then, finally, he would take that too. That anger, that fear, that pain; he would take it all away, leaving only an empty shell, a hollow and broken doll of a person behind. He could see those dark eyes become sightless and vacant, that porcelain skin grow unresponsive and cold to the touch. That pleasure was reserved for him and him alone. _He _was the only one who could touch the boy, _he _was the only one allowed to taint him.

Toho laughed. "Oh, but that would be bothersome and not nearly as fun. I suppose this inconvenience will have to be tolerated," he sighed, his look of mock sympathy quickly dissolved behind a familiarly wicked smile. "Just remember, _Shito-shaoye_, no matter how close you get to someone, no matter what lies they tell to seduce you, you can never be one of them. You will always be different, a perfect monster."

He leaned forwards, close enough to whisper those words, his lips almost touching Shito's ear. He felt him suddenly tense beneath him, unsure of whether to endure or to push him away.

Taking advantage of his momentary hesitation, Toho leaned all of his weight forwards, trapping Shito beneath him. A hand cupped that crafted face, relishing the touch. Had Shito been endowed with wings, he was sure that he would have ripped them off long ago, just to hear those screams of pain.

Yet Shito was no angel, he was a zombie, a monster. He was not alive and yet he was. It was not aesthetic value alone that made Toho feel drawn to him but the way Shito reacted to everything; his anger and his determination, how he was tired and lonely and yet still pushed himself to be tough, how, as year after year of perpetual existence passed, he still acted like a human.

He drew his leg up to the couch, closing the distance between them. Suddenly snapping out of his trance, Shito's body instantly protested to this intimacy.

"Don't touch me!" he pushed at Toho's chest, lengthening the proximity between them.

Toho withdrew, forever smiling. "Now, now, do I have to retrain you in obedience?" he shook his head with amusement. A harsh light sparked at his fingertips, glimmering menacingly before Shito's eyes. That smile was fixed in place. "You belong to the Xufu," he whispered.

That smile broadened as the boy cried out in pain, falling off the couch onto his knees, his hands clutched his sides, quivering and yet he managed to raise his head an inch, glaring with defiance at the one that stood over him.

"Ah! I love that expression!"

The exorcist drew a spell in the air, binding the limbs from moving. He crouched before Shito, gazing in admiration as he struggled against the bonds of the spell.

"You don't need to make that face," he said, his words laced with the pleasure he was feeling to have this carefully created creature under his power. The urge to take him and make him wholly submit overwhelmed him. He wanted to draw blood, he wanted to hear screams.

Toho moved closer, near enough to see his own reflection in those red eyes, as though he were looking at himself in a blood-soaked mirror. His hands undid the clasps of Shito's cheongsam, the material falling away to reveal the snowy expanse of his chest.

"Let me tell you a secret," he chuckled, drawing another spell into the air. With a hand he grasped hold of Shito's wrists, pinning them above his head. "These beautiful spider lilies, these flowers your mother loved, they represent the spirits of the dead. Fitting, isn't it?"

The spell shimmering in the air activated with a blast of light. A sharp wind cut across Shito's chest, red blood blooming over his skin like the red flowers that decorated the room. He cried out in pain, his body arching in agony.

The smell of incense was intoxicating. Toho drew a deep breath; it was an aphrodisiac. His hands ran across the bleeding chest, his thumb massaging soft skin. How beautiful! He was creating a work of art even as he admired it! Lowering his head, his tongue slipped between his lips to lick the bitter drops of blood.

Grabbing hold of an arm, his fingers dug harshly into flesh, not caring if he was causing pain. He pushed Shito down and straddled him, pressing his lips against his neck, nipping it hard.

His lips were burning. He wanted to break him. It was stronger than usual and he felt almost overwhelmed. Nails sliced into flesh, drawing more beautiful blood, eliciting another delightful scream.

He felt the boy tense at the touch. "Stop it!" he growled at him, ending with a stream of colourful curses. He was rigid, eyes tightly closed as though he could forget that he was being ravished if he could not see it happening.

"Stop, he says," Toho echoed mockingly. "You're not alive. You were never alive. How can you live amongst other humans knowing nothing about what it is to live?" he laughed at the absurdity of it as the boy cursed him again.

He wished that Shito would let him see him cry just once.

Sitting up, he placed a finger to his lips and bit down until he reached blood. With the crimson colour, he pressed his finger to the corner of Shito's eye and slowly traced a waterfall's path down to his lips, marking a bloody tear down the boy's face with his own blood.

Shito turned his head away, his energy drained from his futile struggles. "I don't care…if I'm not alive, I don't care," he whispered, his eyes half-closed with exhaustion. "I'm tired."

"Then close your eyes." Toho smiled with triumph, running a hand through the dark locks of his hair. "Monsters do not have a need for thoughts."

He watched with satisfaction as the body beneath him slowly grew limp. Toho let his fingers flutter over those closed lids, running down his face to the collarbone. Slowly he lifted the boy into his arms, like an ill-fated omen, he snuffed out all the candles and ushered in the rising dark.

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End file.
